Temporal Pregnancy

It is almost 4 in the morning and I just can't seem to get to sleep. I need a quick writing fix and I feel the need to save this moment for posterity. I feel as if I'm playing "Doom 3D" and I'm at a "safe" point in the game where I have plenty of ammo, my health meter is full and all the zombies in the room have been blown to bits. I am in front of the heavy steel door I just found the key for and I know I have to open it to advance in the game. So while its "safe" I will "save" my game so I can reload it in case some weed-inspired awful monstrosity rips me to shreds.

If only life were like that huh? I've imagined (when very drunk and looking at something meaningful like a star or the moon) that I could somehow preserve whatever moment I was in and revisit it in case my life goes to shit sometime after that point. I've also imagined that we re-live our lives over and over again until we live our lives the best way possible. I've imagined a God so merciful that we have as many opportunities as we need to correct past regrets, mistakes and bad decisions and with each iteration our soul becomes more perfect.

Truth be told I have been in this "safe" room for a long time only there are many doors where I am and all open into fantastic, dangerous, risky and unknown locales. There is possibly an exciting new job opportunity through one door; a financial venture through the other. There exists the possibility of moving to an entirely new city; I left the nest a long time ago though I have yet to really leave the tree. Through another door lies the possibility of a brand new love... from the most unexpected of places. This is perhaps the most frightening of all. I know how to move to a new city. I know how to go about finding a new job. I know how to seek out new experiences and new people and new locations. Am I ready to "go there" again? Part of the safety of this room has been owning a complete heart once again.

Which doors should I open and when? I'm locked and loaded. I know it would be a waste to sit, safely, where I am indefinitely. At some point it becomes disrespectful of the limited time we have alive. With the end of grad school next spring comes the awkward silence from that awesomely terrible question: What next?